


Damn Drummer Boy

by Danny_Gaye



Category: Old Hollywood, old entertainers, old musicians
Genre: 1930s, 30s, And morning boners hyuck, Glenn Miller - Freeform, Just wanted to test the waters on this site and try posting, M/M, Old Hollywood - Freeform, also uh, and homophobia, gene krupa - Freeform, old entertainers - Freeform, old musicians - Freeform, sexual assult is mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2020-01-11 21:18:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18432293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Danny_Gaye/pseuds/Danny_Gaye
Summary: It’s the mid 30’s, and Glenn Miller finally eases into the sound of drums after discovering a certain drummer. Finally finding what he looks like and finding out his name, which is Gene Krupa, the two become friendly with each other. Glenn only thinks it’s nothing until one morning after a dream.





	Damn Drummer Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Oof sorry for this, I just wanted to post at least one thing here. And as Jarvis Johnson said: “I’m doing my best”

I was never the biggest fan of over the top high energy music, I didn’t hate it, but I never loved it. Calm or mildly energetic big band music and swing was always my style, it was always what I enjoyed ever since music became my biggest interest in high school. It was just I never liked the sound of drums, I felt it was too high energy for me to understand and fully enjoy, but I never condemned someone for liking that music. Because of the fact I never put someone down for their music taste, they took me to concerts and shows containing the music I couldn’t get into. Drums would ring in my ears for nights on end, and at first it was maddening, but I became used to it until I began to actually enjoy it.

Finally enjoying the sound of drums, I frequently attended shows with higher energy big band music by myself, not needing to be dragged anymore. I was always fixated on the sound, how carefully planned each piece must’ve been to craft and how difficult it must’ve been to learn. When actually listening, I realized it wasn’t just senseless banging and hoping it sounded presentable, it was never that. Busy focusing on the drummer’s work and considering getting a drummer for my own band, I realized I always paid my attention to the sound, but never the player. Out of my headspace, I scanned the stage until I laid my eyes on the man behind the noise, but unable to get a good view of the man behind his unkempt hair and his energetic movements.

He finally stopped when the conductor instructed him to, and I finally got a good look at him. His jawline was strong, his eyes showed nothing but pure euphoria, and his smile was as perfect as perfect could be. Though his sweat drenched hair covered his equally soaked skin, I could notice that through it, he was someone who could make men and women alike stare in awe. He seemed like he was as outgoing as you could make him, but he could willingly sit still when you asked him too; able to calm down, but only when instructed. Though it was the exact opposite of me, I couldn’t help but think I could get along with him (at least I hoped). 

The show had ended, and the drummer began waltzing off stage, fixing his sweat drenched hair as he made his way to the bar. I noticed he glanced over at me before passing, leaving me alone in my seat, thinking how assertive his eyes looked for whatever reason. I didn’t want to think of it too much, staring down at my reflection through my drink, only looking up when I heard someone ask, “Glenn Miller?” Looking up, the drummer was right in front of me, his eyes widening when I faced him, a nervous smile spreading. “I’m sorry for being such a bother, Mr. Miller, I just couldn’t help but notice you in the crowd!” He explained, crossing his arms and pulling at his sleeves anxiously, a nervous chuckle escaping his lips as he stared at everything but me.

“It’s alright, son, you didn’t bother me one bit.” I reassured him, and I noticed shock ripple through him when I called him son. “I-I just wanted to say I’ve always been a fan of you.” He stumbled, bringing his hand up to his face as another nervous laugh escaped through his lips, an equally anxious smile plastered on his face. Grinning at both the compliment and his timid nature, I leaned against the table and thanked him, following it up with, “I’m glad to say I’m quite a fan of your drumming.” “Oh gosh, Mr. Miller.” I heard him mumble under his breath, looking away and seeing his face was flushed red under the lights, and I wasn’t sure if I was causing it or if it was because he just finished a 2 hour long show and spent it drumming like a madman. I would be a liar if I didn’t think it was endearing, I was always into the more shy types.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what’s your name?” I asked, getting his attention back. “Gene Krupa, sir.” He replied, and I knew that would be a name I’ll remember. “Before I go back, I just want to say I’m looking forward to tomorrow night’s show!” Gene told me, and it made me remember that I did, in fact, have a show tomorrow night. How I managed to forget, I’m clueless, but it implied he would attend. “I hope to see you in the crowd!” I reply, grinning as I noticed the joy light up in Gene’s eyes, like he was a child or a dog unable to contain their excitement.

~~~

The show was about to start, and I scanned the audience for Gene, hoping I’d see him in the crowd. He promised he’d be here, I hope nothing happened and I hope he didn’t lie, though I didn’t see a point in lying. But I saw him, he sat at a table for one near the bar, looking elsewhere. I knew I was right when I assumed he’d look even more attractive under all the sweat and unkempt hair; he looked assertive and dressed pleasantly with a black three piece suit and a blue tie that illuminated a neon glow under the lights. His hair was slicked back, only enhancing his assertive look, but I knew the shy nature under the expression, suppressing a grin at the thought of him acting flustered while he looked like Al Capone’s accomplice. 

He looked over at me, catching me staring in awe at him. Gifting me with a suggestive grin, I felt my face grow hot, waving at him with a smile. As if he wanted me red in the face during the show, he gave a subtle wink when he waved back. I looked down at the floor, tapping my foot against the floorboards of the stage as I felt my palms get sweaty from Gene’s suggestive nature. I wished for the show to begin soon so it would end as soon as possible and I could talk with him. 

Too busy daydreaming of him, the music began without me feeling ready, snapping out of my headspace but feeling relieved when I didn’t have to play yet. Finally catching up mentally, I knew my part would have to come up soon, pressing my quivering lips against the mouthpiece, managing to keep my breath steady when I started playing, knowing I had to avoid Gene’s gaze or else I’d begin to feel flustered. As much as I desired to look over at him, I feared he’d have that look, and I knew if he had it, I’d make a mistake that the audience might not hear, but my band mates would, and I’d be the joke of the week. I was already the joke once, after I read my sheet music wrong and played half of a song wrong without noticing, and it made me realize how cynical my band mates would get, their insults and jokes so bizarre but managing to make me feel ashamed for my mistake. I didn’t want to experience that again, so for the entirety of the show, I didn’t look at the audience, staying focused and got through the show without a mistake. 

Before I could comprehend time and grasp what it even was, the show was over, and I was free to look over at Gene. He didn’t look at me with a suggestive gaze, but he looked proud, his eyes shining and a wide grin on his face as he applauded with the crowd. As the band dispersed and I set my trombone in its case, I made my way off stage and towards that table for one, one hand in my pocket and the other holding the case. “Actin’ like you were gonna blow your wig up there when you saw me.” Gene smirked, seeming as if his demeanor the night before was an act of the one he portrayed now was one. “Actin’ like a grifter for someone who couldn’t talk straight yesterday.” I snapped back as I set down the case, a grin on my face as the drummer pretended to be offended, dramatically gasping, “Oh murder!” 

Rolling my eyes, I leaned against the table and asked, “May I buy you a drink?” Gene nodded, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a cigarette box as I asked what drink he wanted. “Any drink is fine, just as long as you make it a Micky Finn.” He jokingly replied, snorting as my eyes widened out of surprise at the seemingly prepared answer. “Seems like you’ve been waiting to give that answer.” I commented, watching him take a cigarette out of the box and hold it out to me, which I took with a glare. “Don’t look at me like that, scrub.” Gene playfully hissed, grinning as I did.

“Be serious with me then.” I replied, finally getting a serious answer out of him when he mumbled, “French 75.” Satisfied, I got the bartender’s attention and ordered two French 75s, taking out my lighter and lighting the cigarette I was given while I waited. When it would barely spark, I knew my lighter was done for, and I ultimately shoved it hastily in the deepest depths of my coat pocket, the pocket where all my dead lighters went. “Shit.” I heard Gene hiss, looking over at him and seeing him struggle with his lighter. “It’s empty.” He followed it up with, shoving his dead lighter into his pocket.

“Well my lighter just ran out of gas.” I replied, hearing the bartender call that the drinks were done. Taking a drag from the cigarette and tapping the ash off of it, I walked up to the bar and took the drinks, about to walk back, but Gene was right next to me. “Don’t move, Glenn.” He muttered through his cigarette, holding it with his lips as he kept the tip in front of mine. The sudden switch from a shy, stumbling, and sweat soaked drummer yesterday to an assertive and unafraid bruno today made an emotion I didn’t know the name of rush over me. He radiated warmth from his body, and I felt like he was pressed up against me - though he was only a few inches away at most - and it made me feel somewhat secure, or at least happy in some way.

Once the cigarette was finally lit, he backed away, taking a drink and walking back to his table, sitting down and puffing smoke from his lips. His brows were furrowed as he smoked, and I felt like I could place a finger on the emotion I felt, but I couldn’t, but I knew I was in awe over him. Not wanting to seem like a nervous mess, I took my cigarette out of my mouth and mustered the courage go ask, “What are you? A gunsel?” “Maybe. What’s it to ya?” Gene hissed through his cigarette, and I knew for a fact I was red in the face over his glare and his tone. “You did get up pretty close.” I explained, continuing to smoke as Gene spoke.

“I can’t help the fact my lighter doesn’t work, and I can’t help the fact you’re a sweet daddy.” He explained, and I couldn’t help but choke on cigarette smoke at what he called me. He grinned, taking his cigarette out and took a sip of his drink. Finally gaining composure, I hissed playfully, “You’ve gotten quite fearless since last night, haven’t you, Mr. Krupa?” “Might’ve.” He simply replied, downing the rest of his drink before continuing to smoke. I drank my drink, still feeling the hotness in my cheeks and still unable to place the feeling I felt for him.

“Would it be a problem, though?” I heard him ask, and I looked over curiously at him, seeing he held his empty glass in one hand and the almost finished cigarette in the other. He looked down at the floor and had his legs crossed, leaning back against the chair nonchalantly, but I could tell anxiety was coursing through him. “Would what be a problem?” I asked, taking a final inhale from my cigarette before burning it out, finishing my drink too. “Me being a… a gunsel.” He barely mumbled, but loud enough for me to hear him. I could tell the shyness was creeping back into him; fidgeting in his seat and tapping his fingers against the able. 

“No, it wouldn’t.” I replied, pulling up an unattended chair and sitting in it so I sat in front of Gene, seeing the fear and shyness in his eyes. “If it’s you, it’s you. Just don’t hurt others and don’t hurt yourself.” I continued, leaning my face against my hand as a reassured smile spread on his face, a quiet “thank you” being heard. “It’s okay, son.” I replied, noticing another ripple of shock move through him at the name. I couldn’t help but smile over it, he just had an endearing aura and I couldn’t help but fall for it. “If you aren’t busy, would you like to go to a bar next Sunday?” He asked, finally looking up at me, a nervous grin on his face. 

Knowing I wouldn’t be busy, I agreed to the offer, feeling like we were the closest of friends, even though I’ve only known him since last night. Finalizing plans and exchanging numbers, we were set, and I already knew by the time I got home, I’d be counting down the seconds until Sunday. I hoped to see him again after that night, too. I hoped I could attend his shows and he could attend mine. I just wanted to see him or at least talk to him before and after Sunday, he was too endearing to leave alone. 

~~~

Gene and I’s outing was only 3 days away, and I last saw him 4 days ago, but I couldn’t help but miss him still. Thursday nights always felt so lonely to me because everyone else I knew went out, while I always stayed home in the dark and smoked. I wanted to catch a glimpse of the drummer, hear his voice, feel his warmth, anything could tide me over. I felt clingy, I didn’t know why I was feeling this way over him, I barely knew him, but I wanted to know him. He seemed like the man I could talk with in the latest hours of the night of my troubles and frustrations, and he could empathize with me through a cigarette or a bathtub cocktail. 

Finally tired of sitting alone and hearing only the clock tick, I let out an exasperated sigh, looking over at the phone, but knowing it was too late to call. It was 11, and I didn’t know Gene’s sleep schedule, but I didn’t want to disrupt it if he was going to sleep or was asleep. If he wasn’t, I wasn’t going to call him and enable him not going to sleep, if that made sense. I wasn’t able to do much since it was so late, so I finally decided I spent enough time sitting alone on the couch and got ready to go to sleep, fixing the couch so I could lay down and stare out the window above it while I drifted off. Blocking out my thoughts so I could fall asleep, I did my best to not think of Gene, especially not that look he gave me the last time I saw him.

~~~

Benny Goodman was the only thing I could hear; no talking, no bar ambiance, I couldn’t even hear my own breathing or thoughts. I could see no one but the person in front of me: that drummer boy. He didn’t look shy, but he didn’t look assertive, he just looked tired. His eyes were barely open when he’d pull his lips into a thin line, which was the closest thing to a smile he could give. “You look like you haven’t slept since ‘27.” I commented, finally able to hear something else besides Benny as I picked up a drink that was beside me and attempted to drink it, but I couldn’t feel it, like I was drinking out of an empty glass.

“That’s ‘26 to you, scrub.” Gene snapped back, earning a chuckle from me. He acted tipsy, steadying himself against the table whenever he’d make a motion too quick or too big. “Forgive me then.” I apologized, leaning forward and resting my head on my hand, looking into his glossy eyes. “Can’t forgive your ignorance, Alton.” He sighed, shocking me that he used my birth name. Not trying to seem nervous over it, I laughed it off as I said, “Devastated!” 

The drummer finally gave a full smile, reaching out to take my hand, intertwining our fingers. Though shocked at first, I allowed it to happen, only if we went undisturbed. Two men in our position would be deemed as quite a sight in our era, but since no one commented on it, I let him hold my hand since I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t find comfort in it. “You’re quite brave to do this.” I commented, but Gene waved it off with his free hand, continuing to smile as I noticed his flushed cheeks. “You dandy there?” I asked, receiving a nod and a mumbled, “I’m grand.”

“Well you look like you’re getting driven home.” I huffed, placing my other hand over top the hand he used to hold my occupied one. Burying his face in the crook of his arm, he shook with silent laughter, clearly not one to handle his drinks. “I’m grand!” He insisted, but not lifting his head up. “You’re only making it worse for you.” I sighed, to which Gene lifted his head up suddenly to snap back, but he had to steady himself. By the time he could sit straight, he didn’t say anything. 

Looking at me with glossy eyes, he took my other hand with his free one, leaning forward. Though I was already somewhat slant, I bent forward a bit more. Feeling like we were gathering an audience I couldn’t see over how close Gene and I had gotten, I started feeling a bit worried, glancing in every direction I could, but unable to see anybody or anything. “Alton.” The drummer caught my attention with the use of my first name, so I glanced back at him, unprepared for what he executed. It lasted barely a moment, but I relived it minutes after it occurred, nothing but shocked over what he did: he gave me a quick peck on the lips before moving to my ear and whispering, “I’ll haul your ashes good, Ace.” 

~~~

Suddenly awoke, I laid still on the couch, thinking of what I just dreamt of. Though details got fuzzy as I tried thinking of it more, Gene’s kiss and his remark would permanently remain in my head. Sitting up, I felt sudden sensitivity in my boxers, glancing down curiously but already knowing what had happened. I got an erection while asleep over the dream, and though I was alone, I felt ashamed. My hands trembling, I thought to myself, “So that was the feeling.” 

About to take care of my situation, I finally came to the conclusion I didn’t expect to come to. My fascination with Gene was romantic and - according to my dream - lustful. Though I felt relieved I finally knew what emotion I felt the nights I was with Gene, I was also embarrassed. People with feelings like mine would be put in deep trouble since the era only found heterosexuality acceptable. I knew if people knew, it would end not only my career, but Gene’s too, and possibly our bandmates if people deemed it that awful. 

~~~

Sunday finally arrived, but the dream dominated my thoughts as I got dressed to go out. While debating if I should bring it up or not, I dressed casually; wearing a white button up and black trousers. The only interesting thing about my outfit was my tie: a purple and blue striped necktie my mother bought me when I made my biggest musical breakthrough. This was during harder economic times, so she couldn’t give me much, but I cherished the tie, wearing it at all my shows and whenever I visited her. I’ve had the tie for years, and I didn’t plan on abandoning it soon.

Finally thinking I looked presentable, I ended my one sided debate and promised myself I wouldn’t bring the dream up in fear of making Gene uncomfortable. For all I knew, he couldn’t like me back, and that would only be embarrassing for the both of us. Tired of looking at my disgruntled expression over the internal debate, I left the bathroom and soon my place of living, walking to the bar Gene promised to meet me at. It wasn’t far from my home, that and I didn’t have a car. I had to sell it when the depression began in order to keep my home, but I was saving up money I earned from gigs so I could buy another, hopefully after the depression if the crisis didn’t last too long.

After a few nods and a couple smiles after people recognized me, I entered the bar, finding Gene almost immediately at a table for two. He wore a navy blue vest, a white button up, and had his hair freshly gelled; as it shone under the lights overtop of him. “Gene!” I called out, him looking up in response and waving me over when he saw it was me. Pulling out the empty chair under the table and sitting down, I smiled as he excitedly asked how my day was and stumbled over his words when he told me how much he wanted today to come. “I missed you, pill.” I commented, trying to seem as if my name for him was a joke after I realized what I said.

Not seeming to notice or not seeming to care, he didn’t comment on it, asking me what I wanted as he showed me a list of drinks. “A Mary Pickford I guess, I don’t recognize anything else.” I said, looking back up in time to see Gene chuckle at my remark. “I knew you were a curve.” He snorted, waving for wait staff to come over and take the order. “I’m a curve for not being an alcoholic?” I asked, furrowing my brows in confusion and suppressing a laugh. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.” He replied, not looking me in the eyes.

Rolling my eyes and fighting the urge to smile, a waiter came to the table and took the orders before leaving, having us sit alone once more. As I sat and glanced around, I felt my heart drop. The aura of the bar was just like the dream, the dream I wouldn’t dare speak of to anybody for as long as I lived. “You grand over there, Glenn?” I heard him ask, snapping me out of my thoughts and staring right into Gene’s concerned eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine.” I mumbled, cracking my knuckles nervously as I felt my chest tighten with every glance around the bar.

Waiting anxiously for drinks, I put the dream aside by talking with the drummer in hopes I could get my mind off it. Though I would forget the dream for short periods of time, my mind would always go back to it when I noticed something about Gene that made me remember. The way he acted and every little detail about him made my stomach flutter. “This isn’t okay, you shouldn’t be like this. This could get you in trouble.” My mind scolded me, and I knew the way I felt was wrong, but I couldn’t help it, and I certainly couldn’t treat it like it was a cold. God I was ashamed, I really was, and If I could stop it or have the world be okay with it, I’d do everything in my power to make it happen.

While I was distracted by my nagging thoughts, the waiter came along and set down our drinks: 4 Mary Pickfords. “You drinkin’ all these yourself, kid?” I asked, grinning as Gene took two and mumbled, “I wish.” I wasn’t paying attention while Gene ordered, so I didn’t notice he ordered 2 for the both of us. “How romantic, how are you going to pay for all this?” I questioned, picking up one of the glasses and taking a sip as the drummer glared at me. “You callin’ me a scrub?” He barked, downing his first drink like it was city juice. 

“I’m also calling you dingy.” I barked back, taking another sip as I knew the man was gonna get himself drunk if he kept up his drinking style. “If you’re gonna keep bein’ an egg, scram.” He retaliated, and I couldn’t help but laugh at his attempted intimidation tactic, and he followed suit, taking a sip from his second drink. “Slow down or you’ll burn out your wallet, son.” I warned him, but to spite me, he drank half of the glass’s contents, about to drink the rest before I took the drink out of his hand. “Murder!” He shouted before I handed back his drink, warning him if he continued behaving like he was, I’d take him home early. “Who are you? My father?” He questioned, folding his arms and staring at me accusingly, the corners of his mouth twitching as he tried holding back a grin.

“I’ll become him if you keep acting like a child!” I hurled, genuinely trying to keep him under control in case anything happened. “Murder!” He shouted for the second time, taking a sip from the glass before setting it aside. “That’s good, son.” I told him before finishing my first drink, not wanting to get intoxicated since I’d be walking home, most likely with Gene by my side. “Gee, thanks dad.” He replied sarcastically, taking another sip and sliding down in his seat. “Sit up, kid.” I chuckled, Gene pouting and furrowing his brows in response, downing the rest of his drink before complying.

“You’re a drag.” He huffed, the alcohol seeming to kick in as he leaned forward, pushing the empty glasses along the table with his arms. Picking up my second drink, I felt my chest tighten as I looked down at Gene. The dream sprung into mind again, and my mind went directly to the drunk kiss and his remark. Sipping nervously, the drummer waved our waiter over and asked for more drinks, and I only stared anxiously in response. I didn’t want to walk an intoxicated Gene home, for all I know, the streets could be a threat to drunks like him.

“Might wanna slow down, son.” I brought up, finishing my drink and setting the empty glass aside. “I will, don’t worry!” Gene reassured me, waving at me as I looked over his shoulder for the drinks. “You want more?” He asked me, and I shrugged, replying, “I don’t wanna drink too much, I have to walk anyway. Might have to walk you, too.” The drummer scoffed, mumbling, “I’ll be fine.” “If you insist.”

As the drinks still haven’t arrived, the other man looked around the bar before his eyes landed on my tie, tilting his head to his right slightly. “That’s a nice tie.” He commented, leaning forward to take a better look at it. “Thanks, it was a gift.” I returned, having him look up and ask, “Who gave it to you?” “My mother.” I answered, feeling the material of the accessory, calmness overcoming me at the feeling of the texture. “Well tell your mommy I’ll get a better tie.” He giggled, leaning back and drumming on the table. 

Unable to fight a smile, I gave into the urge and grinned as Gene kept looking around for our waiter. Once he finally came and set down 4 more drinks, I took 1 and let the drummer take the rest, but telling him to drink carefully. Though he promise to keep it in mind, he still went ahead and did what he pleased. After 10 minutes passed, all three glasses were empty and mine was only halfway done. “Don’t come crying to me when you have a hangover tomorrow.” I warned, but when I told him, he was on the path to getting fully drunk.

Turning himself to his left and hanging off the chair, only holding onto the table with his right hand, he looked up into the ceiling lights and laughed. “Clearly not one to handle your drinks, are you?” I asked, but had wheezing laughter dealt to me by him. “I’m grand, Glenn! Don’t worry!” Gene insisted, looking over to me with flushed cheeks and glossy eyes, leaning back farther but losing his grip on the table. Before I could process what had happened, the drummer was on the floor, his face in his hands as he erupted in laughter. “That’s it, we’re going home.” I told him as I helped him up back onto the chair, fishing his pockets for his wallet and looking through the cash he had when I found it. 

Gathering the glasses and trying to count how much money that needed to be paid in my head, I tried keeping Gene in his seat. His arms out to me and whining to be held, I hugged him from the side as I caught our waiter’s attention and motioning him towards us. “Are the two of you finished?” He asked, and I nodded, counting the dollar bills in the drummer’s wallet when I was told the total would be 39 dollars. “Thank you sir.” He said as I handed him the money, trying to get Gene onto his feet so I could walk him home. Since he couldn’t give me a clear address, I decided to take him to my home, hopefully able to help him aide his hangover when he woke up. 

“Glenn, look at me.” I heard the drummer mumble in my ear, complying to his request and looking over. Nothing could’ve prepared me for what Gene thought was acceptable to do in the place and time, standing still with wide eyes and balancing myself against the table. When I looked over, he grabbed me by the face and pressed his lips against mine, the taste of alcohol from his tongue transferring onto mine. I pushed him off of me, my eyes wide as the dream came back into mind. Though he found nothing wrong with what he just executed due to the alcohol, I showed clear distaste in my eyes as I grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him out of the bar, feeling eyes stare holes into me.

My arm around his hip and a hand holding his, I walked briskly but made sure Gene walked straight. Any hopes of the walk home being uninterrupted were shattered when I heard someone bark from behind me, “Heya cock jockeys!” I pretended to not know they were talking to me, quickening my pace but halting when someone hooked their fingers in my shirt collar. Looking over my shoulder to see who it was, I saw a man I didn’t recognize with dark hair and irritated, light eyes. Looking over his shoulder, I saw two other men who looked just as irritated, disgusted scowls on their face as their eyes seemed to trace Gene’s outline. 

“I don’t know about your street, but on our’s we don’t allow Mollies or Tommies like you and your friend.” The dark haired presumably ringleader of the group hissed, shoving me with a scowl. “He doesn’t know what he’s doin’, sir.” I calmly attempted to explain, but he cut me off with a “I don’t wanna hear it you Abercrombie”. “Disgusting, both of you.” One of the men behind the ringleader spat, stepping forward until he was beside the dark haired man. Gene and I now faced the trio, the drummer still leaning on me, not alarmed whatsoever as he hiccuped and rubbed his face against my shoulder. “Look at him, is he braindead?” The third man asked, knitting his brows together as he watched the drummer.

“What’s the difference between a fag and someone whose brain dead?” I heard the ringleader mumble to himself, but no one else seemed to pick up on it. “Sir, I just want to get home.” I said, nervously tightening my grip on Gene’s hand. “Like hell you are!” The dark haired man shouted into my face, grabbing the drummer by the wrist and pulling him away, shoving him into the sidewalk. Before I could say anything, he grabbed me by the necktie and wrapped it around my neck, tightening it like it was a noose before putting his arm around my neck as well and pushing me into the wall. Attempting to fight back, I elbowed him in the shoulder, but he followed it up with a harsh jerk on my tie.

As I have worn the tie more times than imagined, it had begun to wear down around the back of my neck, more threads becoming loose with each time I wore it, but I loved it more than anything, so I kept it. After it was pulled on, I heard several threads break, but it still held on, but only by a few strands. Pushing the man away by the shoulders, he stumbled off the sidewalk, but rushed back up to me to give the tie one last pull, trying to wrap it around my neck like it was a noose again. With this, it finally broke off around my neck, dangling uselessly in the man’s hand. Scowling, the man threw the tie onto the ground before pinning me against the wall, his eyes glinting with anger and pure disgust.

Looking down to where I last saw Gene lie, he struggled to get back into his feet since the two other men kept kicking him down. “Don’t!” I shouted, trying to break free but unable to do so when the ringleader of the group pushed more weight against me. Only able to squirm and shout for them to stop, the three men laughed, hurling insults at me as I stood helplessly, watching the drummer get beaten to the ground. Attempting to push the dark haired man off of me to get to Gene, I grabbed him by the shoulders and put my all into getting him away, but I was unsuccessful. All I got in response was a hard punch to the jaw, jerking my head to the side before collapsing onto the ground and going out cold.

~~~

“Sir? Sir are you okay?” I faintly heard, but not opening my eyes until I was shook gently. My vision blurred and not feeling my glasses resting on the bridge of my nose, I squinted as I tried making out what was around me. Sitting up and noticing a figure in front of me, I tried making them out, but couldn’t. “Where are my glasses?” I asked myself, looking down at the ground, where I faintly made them out. Reaching out to them and putting them on, I realized one of the lenses popped out and a temple was almost completely broken off, but I still put them on so I could make out who was in front of me. 

Though I didn’t recognize them, they showed genuine concern, asking, “Do you remember what happened? Someone socked you in the jaw and you were out for a bit.” “Three men just came after us when we left the bar and harassed us both.” I explained, only remembering them walking up to Gene and I and seeing the drummer being kicked to the ground. “Where’s Gene?” I asked, looking where I last saw him and noticing he was gone. “I saw one of the men take and drag him somewhere but I don’t know where.” The man explained, running his fingers through his hair as he looked around, then nervously scratching his face. Feeling my jaw ache, I put my fingers up to where I was struck, whimpering when pain shot through me after lightly touching the area.

I reached down to feel my tie, the texture usually calming me down whenever I was anxious, but I felt my chest tighten when I couldn’t feel it. Noticing it wasn’t around my neck, I remembered it being torn from me during the scuffle, looking behind me and seeing it. Reaching out and grabbing it, I felt tears prick in my eyes as the moonlight shone on the torn accessory, untying it and holding the two pieces of my tie in each hand. “Don’t cry, there are more important things to cry about, Alton.” I thought to myself, clutching the tie in my hands as I tried my hardest to not let the tears leave my eyes and to keep my quivering lip under control. Standing up after a few minutes of sitting on the sidewalk, I surveyed the area cautiously before taking a few steps and looking down an alley near the bar.

Thankfully, this was where Gene went, but he looked distressed and couldn’t even look up as he clutched onto his sleeves. “Gene?” I called out to him, finally getting him to look up and having his eyes widen. “Glenn!” He gasped, using the wall to help himself up before reaching out and embracing me, clutching onto my shirt as he buried his face into the crook of my neck before I heard him begin to sob. Hugging him back, I let the tears in my eyes roll down my cheeks as I asked him what happened. “I-I…” he began, only to break down crying again, rubbing his eyes dry against my shoulder. 

“I’ll take you home, okay?” I promised, stepping out of the alley and looking over to the unknown man. “Is he okay?” He asked, but I shrugged in response as I attempted to console the drummer, rubbing his back. “You guys go home, I’ll file a report.” The man promised, and I nodded, thanking him before walking back home, keeping Gene close as he continued to sob. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t help you.” I apologized, but I received no spoken response. Sighing, unable to not feel guilt, I mumbled, “I could’ve helped.”

Surveying each crosswalk before crossing, we walked back to my home without incident. Unlocking the door and leading Gene in, I shut and locked it before turning the lights on, showing the drummer to the couch. Watching him shakily sit down and wipe away his tears, I set down my torn tie on the table before sitting down beside him. “Do you remember what happened?” I asked him, holding my hand out to him and patting his shoulder, hoping he could tell me at least something. “They took me to the alley and…” he began, his lips quivering as he choked up.

“Take your time.” I reassured him, letting him breathe before he continued talking, fixing his hair and wiping the sweat that formed on his forehead. “They tried doing things.” He choked out, grabbing his sleeves and pulling his lips into a thin line and pressing his shaking thighs together. “Do you mind elaborating?” I asked, having a tone that said he didn’t have to tell if he didn’t want to. “I-I don’t remember much, but I know they tried unbuckling my belt.” Gene managed to get out, refusing to look at anything but the floor as his legs bounced wildly. My mind only came to one conclusion: they tried something at least somewhat sexual.

“Gene I’m-” I tried to apologize for not being able to help, but he interrupted, saying, “No, it’s not your fault.” Finally looking up with bloodshot eyes, he shakily took my arm and rested his head against my shoulder, making me think that he could at least trust me after the incident. “Can I stay here for a while?” He asked, and I told him he could stay as long as he wanted, but it could lead to issues involving where he originally lived. “Oh, I don’t really have a house, I just bounce from friend’s houses to motels.” He explained, and I knew he would eventually end up living with me. “Well you can stay if you let me try to help you, is that okay?” I asked, and with a nod of approval, I promised myself I would help him anyway possible.

~~~

Months passed since the incident and we ended up not taking it to court since it would reveal what had caused it to happen, which was looked down upon. Gene had been learning to trust people and develop relationships, also learning to accept himself for who he couldn’t help being, this rubbing off onto me. I had accepted the fact that my attraction to the drummer was serious and I wanted to develop a romantic relationship with him, but I waited until he came to terms with the fact that he was homosexual and was ready to develop relationships. After weeks of putting it off and many more weeks planning what I was doing to do, I finally worked up the courage to tell him about everything. It was a quiet Sunday evening, being spent listening to the radio by him and attempting to make a piano piece by me.

That’s at least what I said to Gene when he asked what I was doing. I was actually pressing random keys and thinking about what I should say to him. Playing short pieces everyone who ever played a piano knew, my thoughts were dominated with how he could possibly react. I prepared myself to be let down, but all I hoped for was at least to stay friends with him. He was genuinely a nice friend and a delight to be around, and losing that would pain me. 

“Quite a piece you got there, Mr. Miller.” I heard someone comment, looking up and seeing Gene leaning against the doorframe. “Didn’t know you could hear over the radio.” I replied, putting my hands in my lap as the drummer fixed his hair and rose his brows. “You think I keep it on when I’m gonna take a shower and not be able to hear it?” He asked, pushing himself off the frame and slowly walking towards me, his brows lowering and knitting together. “You keep it on when you sleep.” I commented, pulling my lips into a smile as he returned one, looking away and folding his arms nervously. “Just like keeping you awake.” He laughed, unbuttoning the first button of his shirt.

“You were gonna shower?” I asked, noticing it looked like he hadn’t washed his hair in a good few days. “Yeah, why? You wanna join?” Gene snorted, roughly patting my shoulder as I quickly defended myself. “I just wanted to tell you something, but I can wait until you’re done.” I explained, closing the piano and leaning against it. “Must be a long conversation.” He mumbled to himself, noticing me nod. “Go shower and come meet me back here.” I said, waving him off as he walked out the door.

Hearing the shower run a few minutes later, I pulled my lips into a line before letting out a sigh. “Am I really gonna do this?” I asked myself, rubbing my bottom lip as I reached out to a cigarette box that laid beside a music book, pulling one out and holding it between my lips as I dug through my pockets for a lighter. I wasn’t in the mood to smoke, I never really was, but I needed something to distract myself while I waited for Gene to leave the shower. Finally finding a lighter and lighting the cigarette, I puffed smoke through the corners of my lips and absentmindedly looked through the music book. I barely knew what most of the music meant, as piano wasn’t my forte, but I still tried to piece together what things meant from previous knowledge, opened the piano again, and attempted playing pieces with one hand - the other one occupied with holding the book - but also taking quick breaks to tap the ash off my cigarette before continuing to smoke and play.

All caught up in what I was doing, I didn’t realize both the cigarette burning dangerously close to my lips and Gene beside me. I only realized when the cigarette was taken out of my lips by the drummer and burned out. “What’s the scoop, Mr. Miller?” The younger musician asked me as he pushed his damp hair off his forehead, allowing me to notice his attire: a halfway buttoned up white shirt with the sleeves rolled up past his elbows - showing off his red, damp skin - and black trousers held up by suspenders. “Sit down, son.” I told him, sliding to the other end of the bench so he could sit beside me. Even after several months of knowing each other and me calling him it, he still got flustered whenever I called him son, and it made me soft each time.

“I know that you might not be looking for intimacy now, but I had to tell you this or else I’ll never say it.” I began, holding my hands up and moving them around nervously as I looked over to him. Tilting his head and raising his brows, he showed he was listening and allowed me to continue. “Gene, I’m sorry for being blunt, but I love you more than anything! Not a day and night goes by where I don’t think of you and hope you’re happy!” I bluntly confessed, nervously grabbing my sleeves and feeling my face burn up as I watched the drummer’s face change from attentiveness to shock. “I-If you don’t like me back, that’s more than alright! I can understand! All I ask if that’s the case is that we still remain friendly with each other.” I quickly sputtered, spastically moving my hands and barely grazing the collar of his shirt. “How long have you felt this?” He asked, his face softening, but looking somewhat stern.

“I think it started when I first met you, the second time we met at most. I only realized this before our third meeting.” I explained, putting my hands in my lap and tightly folding them. “I see.” He mumbled, looking down as he closed the piano, leaning his elbow against it and leaning against his hand, sighing. He didn’t look interested, and my heart dropped. Feeling tears prick in my eyes as I prepared for heartbreak, he looked up at me and dropped his hand that held up his head. “Not to brag, but I’ve liked you ever since I first saw your promotion pictures in ‘31.” He finally said, a smile forming on his face as I processed what he said.

“You’re a swell guy, Glenn. I’ll gladly be your man.” Gene continued, putting his hand on top of mine, watching me unable to properly react. Unable to contain my own excitement, I embraced the drummer and buried my face in the crook of his neck, feeling the warmth of his skin from the shower against me. “You bastard!” I choked out as I pulled away, a wide smile on my face as I poked at his exposed chest, continuing with, “I thought you were uninterested with that look on your face!” “Am I not allowed to scare you?” He asked, my only response being a harsh shove, but not harsh enough to push him off the bench. “You s-scrub!” I sputtered, unable to speak smoothly without laughing. 

He gave me a shove in return, but almost actually pushing me off, having to grab at the piano to keep myself on the seat. Unable to contain his laughter at me almost falling off the bench, he hid his face in his hands to hide his reddening cheeks as he shook with laughter. Wrapping my arm around his shaking body, I pulled him close and ran my fingers through his still wet hair. “How will I deal with you?” I asked with a smile, watching him look up at me with slightly flushed cheeks. “Suck it up, I guess.” He replied, pulling himself away when I hit the piano’s cover and let out a strange sound that should’ve been a laugh.

~~~

Though Gene and I can’t go out publicly and display affection like the men and women, it didn’t stop us from having fun at home. Every weekend, he’d bring home marijuana cigarettes - never knew where he got them - and we’d smoke them together until all we did was lay on the floor or couch and laugh at each other. When we weren’t as high as clouds, we made music collaborations, though most of the time when we were supposed to work, we were fooling around. If we ever did go out in public, it was either to each other’s shows, clubs and bars, or sporting events. Whenever I was at his shows, I usually snuck food from home and gave it to him after the show ended. 

No matter what I had brought, he always attempted to eat his food with his drumsticks to get a laugh out of me, and it always worked. Whenever he was at my shows, he’d insist on wearing my glasses for a few minutes and pretend to be me while he talked to Tex Beneke. Tex eventually found out Gene and I were a thing when he caught us displaying affection in my dressing room, and surprisingly, he was okay with it. He often enjoyed the drummer’s company, finding his jokes humorous and his drumming impressive. When Gene was busy being a fool, my band’s singer and I talked about him, and I remember him saying, “You’ve caught quite a fish, Glenn. He’s a keeper.”

I planned on keeping the drummer no matter if Tex said anything or not. I enjoyed his goofy nature, his talent, everything about him. His antics never failed to make me laugh, though I found it somewhat strange that he always insisted on doing them when I was with a crowd, probably because he had an audience. His talent never ceases to amaze me, always managing to surprise me with a new piece he learned or even tricks he’d do with his sticks. Everything about him was charismatic, and I loved every bit of him, and I never planned to let him go; he just meant too much to me, and if it was looked down upon, then so be it, I couldn’t care less.


End file.
